Tell Me No Secrets Read Online Free

do it again.”
    The words hung suspended in the space between them, like laundry someone had forgotten to take off the line. Jess held her breath, sensing Connie was on the verge of capitulating, afraid to do anything that might tip the delicate balance in the other direction. Another speech was already working its way to the tip of her tongue. There’s an easy way to do this, it began, and there’s a hard way. The easy way is that you agree to testify as planned. The hard way is that I’ll have to force you to testify. I’ll get the judge to issue a bench warrant for your arrest, force you to come to court, force you to take the stand. And if you still refuse to testify, the judge can, and will, hold you in contempt, send you to jail. Wouldn’t that be a tragedy—you in jail and not the man who attacked you?
    Jess waited, fully prepared to use these words if she had to, silently praying they wouldn’t be necessary. “Come on, Connie,” she said, giving it one last try. “You’ve fought back before. After your husband died, you didn’t give up, you went to night school, you got a job so that you could provide for your son. You’re a fighter, Connie. You’ve always been a fighter. Don’t let Rick Ferguson take that away from you. Fight back, Connie. Fight back.”
    Connie said nothing, but there was a slight stiffening of her back. Her shoulders lifted. Finally, she nodded.
    Jess reached for Connie’s hands. “You’ll testify?”
    Connie’s voice was a whisper. “God help me.”
    “We’ll take all the help we can get.” Jess checked her watch, rose quickly to her feet. “Come on, I’ll walk you out.”
    Neil and Barbara had already left for court, and Jess ushered Connie along the corridor of the state’s attorney’s offices, past the display of cut-off ties that lined one wall, symbolizing each prosecutor’s first win before a jury. The halls were decorated in preparation for Halloween, large orange paper pumpkins and witches on broomsticks taped across the walls, like in a kindergarten class, Jess thought, accepting Greg Oliver’s “good luck” salutations, and proceeding through the reception area to the bank of elevators outside the glass doors. From the large window at the far end of the six elevators, the whole west side and northwest side of the city was visible. On a nice day, O’Hare Airport could be easily discerned. Even faraway Du Page County seemed within reach.
    The women said nothing on the ride down to the main floor, knowing everything important had already been said. They exited the elevator and rounded the corner, pointedly ignoring the Victim-Witness Services Office with its large picture-laden poster proclaiming WE REMEMBER YOU … IN LOVING MEMORY OF … and proceeded to the glassed-in rectangular hallway that connected the Administration Building to the courthouse next door. “Where are you parked?” Jess asked, about to guide Connie through the airportlike security to the outside.
    “I took the bus,” Connie DeVuono began, then stopped abruptly, her hand lifting to her mouth. “Oh my God!”
    “What? What’s the matter?” Jess followed the woman’s frightened gaze.
    The man was standing at the opposite end of the corridor, leaning against the cold expanse of glass wall, his lean frame heavy with menace, his blunt features partially obscured by the thick mass of long, uncombed, dark blond hair that fell over the collar of his brown leather jacket. As his body swiveled slowly around to greet them, Jess watched the side of his lips twist into the same chilling grin that had greeted her arrival at work that morning.
    I am Death
, the grin said.
    Jess shuddered, then tried to pretend it was from a gust of cold air that had sneaked into the lobby through the revolving doors.
    Rick Ferguson, she realized.
    “I want you to take a taxi,” Jess told Connie, seeing one pull up to drop somebody off, guiding Connie through the doors onto California Avenue, and thrusting ten